


BREAD ON THE POTOMAC

by Bay_Ronan_Kellner



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Episode: s03e01 Spree, Episode: s03e02 Two Daughters, Friendship, Gen, High Holy Days, One Shot, Reconciliation, Rosh HaShana | Jewish New Year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-25 23:31:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bay_Ronan_Kellner/pseuds/Bay_Ronan_Kellner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don has something to make right between himself and Ian—and the High Holy Days are the time to do it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	BREAD ON THE POTOMAC

**Author's Note:**

> Set during Season 5 (or maybe early 6, before Ultimatum), with references back to Spree and Two Daughters.

Edgerton was waiting for him at Quantico Municipal Park, as promised. Don found him down from the tennis courts, sitting at one of the benches that overlooked the Potomac. He looked relaxed—or as relaxed as possible for the sniper. He might seem like he was peacefully watching the river flow, but he was probably aware of every jogger who passed behind him and every squirrel that skittered by.

Don slid onto the bench, right next to him, and offered his hand. “Hey, Ian.”

Edgerton took his hand and shook it. “Eppes. I’d have picked you up at Dulles, you know. Saved you the car rental.”

“Yeah, I know. But I needed the drive down here to get my thoughts in order.”

He snorted. “I’m sure you had enough time for that, considering the traffic on 95.”

Don smiled. “Oh man, it was brutal. I forgot how much I hate NoVa traffic. I think it might actually be worse than LA’s.”

Ian nodded, but then both men fell silent.

Damn. Don had known this would be awkward. And he had no one to blame for that but himself—he was responsible for this edgy coolness between the two. “I guess that was the extent of our small talk, huh?”

Edgerton shifted to face him. “Well, I suppose I should say ‘Shanah Tovah.’”

Don raised his eyebrows at the Hebrew greeting for Rosh HaShanah. “Oh, yeah. Shanah Tovah. Uh, Happy New Year.”

“May you and Charlie and your Dad be inscribed and sealed for a good year.”

His eyebrows shot up even further. “You too. You’re pretty good at this. Been dating Jewish?”

Ian folded his arms across his chest. “What makes you think I’m not a Jew?”

“Ah—” Don felt his face redden. He had no idea what ethnicity Ian was. The guy could pass for anything from Filipino to Navajo. But he didn’t look Jewish.

Ian must have read his thoughts. “It’s a religion, not a race.”

He was right. “I know man, I’m sorry. So, were you—I mean, did you convert or something?”

“I see. So you look at my features and assume that just because I’m not a white Ashkenazi Jew I must be a convert?”

Fuck. “Ian, I’m sorry. But there’s nothing wrong with being a convert. It’s not like the old days—” he broke off as Edgerton burst out laughing.

Don was torn between relief and his own bout of laughter. “You bastard.” He punched Ian in the arm. “You’re not a Jew at all, are you?”

“No. But white guilt—you gotta love it. And no one does it better than liberal Jews.” He paused and made what looked like a valiant effort to wipe the smirk off his face. “Besides, it broke the ice, didn’t it?”

Don grinned as he slouched against the bench. “Yeah, it did.”

Ian put a hand on his shoulder. “So what can I do for you, Eppes? You flew all the way across the country to see me—and during the High Holy Days. And you said on the phone that this isn’t about a current case.”

“Not a current case, no.”

“Ah. So this is about the Crystal Hoyle case.”

“Yeah.”

Ian digested that. “Okay. What do you need to get off your chest?”

“I need to apologize to you. That’s what I need to do.”

“As part of the High Holy Days deal?”

Don nodded as he sat up straight again. “Yeah. I should have done this anyway, but it’s, you know, the time for making things right.”

Ian let his hand fall and shifted again to stare out over the Potomac. “I don’t know what you have to apologize for. I don’t feel any guilt for torturing Buck.”

Torture. Don cringed. Neither he nor Ian had spoken that word before. But that’s what he had sent Ian into the interrogation room to do. He knew Ian was going to do more than rough the kid up—he knew that even with such a short time frame, Ian would find a line to cross.

But the decision to send Ian in there—even now, even after therapy—still set Don’s stomach roiling.

“It had to be done, Don. Megan’s life depended on it.”

“Maybe.” Don struggled to find the words. “But I sent you in there to—to hurt that kid. To get the information. I sent you to do something I wasn’t willing to do myself.”

Ian’s voice was matter-of-fact. “You’ve never been trained to do it effectively.”

“I sent you in there,” Don repeated, “and then I held it against you.”

Ian pushed off the bench. Don watched him stand there for a long moment, just staring out at the wide river and the Canadian geese that waddled and honked along the banks. The sun was starting to set now, Don noticed. The blue-gray of the water was growing murkier.

Finally Ian turned and looked Don in the eye. “Listen, Eppes. I’m a sniper—I’m used to this. I do my job, and everyone’s damn glad I’m there to do it. But plenty of people don’t want to shake my hand afterward.”

“Ian—”

But Edgerton ignored the interruption. “And you—you were a little cold to me, that’s all. So what? We still worked together. Hell, I thought we were past it. Don’t make a bigger deal out of this than it is.”

Don folded his hands together and stared down at them. “It is a big deal.”

Ian took a step back toward him and then crouched in front of him. “Is that why you took the kill shot on Crystal Hoyle? You needed to feel like you did part of the dirty work?”

Don didn’t answer.

“You should have let me take it.”

“Why?”

“Because—listen, Don. You're one of the few people I'll admit this to, but I know that I’m fucked up in some way.”

Don stared up at him. There was no trace of Ian’s customary smirk now.

“Healthy, normal people don’t become snipers, government sanctioned or otherwise.” Ian paused to shrug. “But I know how to handle the psychological fallout that goes with the territory. And, no offense, but I’m probably better at handling it than you are.”

Don grunted. “No argument there. But I still owe you an apology for sending you into that interrogation room—for asking you to do something that the FBI didn’t sanction.”

“I was on board with it.”

“But the decision was mine, and so is the responsibility. And, anyway, I don’t want to be one of those people who uses you for your skills but doesn’t want to shake your hand afterward.”

Ian smiled a little. “You flew all the way here just to talk to me, so I’d say you’re not one of those people.”

Don managed a smile in return. “So we’re okay?”

“Not quite.” He was still crouching, so they were at still eye level. “As long as we’re doing this High Holy Days thing—well, I owe you an apology too.”

“What for?”

Ian took a deep breath. “You were right about Megan. When Hoyle left her there to bleed out, I mean. There was no guarantee I’d have caught up with Hoyle anyway—so, yeah. It’s a good thing you made sure we got Megan to the hospital instead.”

“Don’t worry about it. You have tunnel vision when it comes to suspects, Ian. But that’s part of what makes you good at what you do.”

“Maybe. But you see the whole picture—which is why you’re a better man to have in charge.”

“Yeah, so we complement each other.” Don felt himself relax again. The Crystal Hoyle case would still gnaw at him—and there were parts of it he could never make right—but this was a step, at least. “So now are we okay?”

Ian nodded as he straightened up. “Yeah.” He looked around, probably noticing far more details about their surroundings than Don ever would. “It’s late. Want to go for a beer?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” He stood up and the two men started walking, leaving the river and the geese behind them.

“You can crash at my place if you’d like,” Ian said. “Such as it is. How long are you staying in Virginia?”

“I wasn’t sure how things would go, so I didn’t book a return flight yet. But I took the whole holidays off, straight through Yom Kippur.”

Ian whistled. “Nice. Bet the Bureau won’t let you go that long, though—they’ll find some excuse to call you in.”

“Probably. But hopefully I’ll make it through the weekend.”

“Well, I can free myself up. I bet I can even get us invited to a Shabbat dinner in Fredericksburg, if you’re that religious.”

Don grinned. “A Shabbat dinner? Listen to you. Sure you’re not Jewish?”

“Oh, I’m sure. I’m enough of a minority already, trust me.” He paused to elbow Don. “But, yeah, there might be a Jewish significant other or two in my past.”

“Uh-huh. A Shabbat dinner sounds good, if you can manage it—but for now, let’s see about those beers.”

-The End-


End file.
